


Dark Room

by Midnight_Storys



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Drama, Big Brother Mycroft Holmes, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Physical Abuse, Secrets, Sherlock is a Brat, Smut, Top Greg Lestrade, Top John Watson, Violence, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Storys/pseuds/Midnight_Storys
Summary: What would you give up for the person you love? What happens if that person is not who you thought they were? Do you cling to everything you have left and try to maintain this love at all costs? How long can you keep it up without losing yourself in the process? Even the strongest person would break at some point... In one way or another.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this story.   
> First of all, I would like to say how much I am looking forward to this. I've been thinking about writing a Sherlock fanfiction for a while now, and I've finally done it! I am so excited 
> 
> A well meant warning first:  
> As you can see from the tags, this contains some very sensitive topics that may be offensive to some. The major theme of this story centres around the aspects of an abusive relationship emotional AND physical!! However, more detailed warnings are always given in the individual chapters! Please take the tags and warnings seriously and don't read this if you can't handle such topics! 
> 
> That should be it from me for now.   
> Enjoy!

"Your tea, sir."  
Anthea carefully placed the cup on her superior's desk. She took care to avoid the scattered papers that dominated almost the entire surface.

Since her boss had started work this morning, he had not got up from his chair. After five hours in which she had not seen her boss once, the PA went to check on him herself. Only to find the man still bent over his desk. There was an expression on his face that suggested he was suffering from a headache. A picture that had been presented itself to her for quite a while now.

This file marathon had been going on for a good week. Mr. Holmes came to work early, went to his office and usually did not leave until late in the evening. During this time, he communicated with his PA via text message at most, unusual for Mycroft Holmes, who normally preferred direct conversation. Anthea suspected that he simply wanted to keep all phone lines free. In case someone with an oh-so-urgent problem tried to steal valuable time from him.

After Mycroft noticed her, he looked up from the file in front of him and forced himself to smile. But his face contorted as a particularly unpleasant flash of pain twitched through his head. Annoyed, he closed his eyes and dropped the pen he was holding.

How long would he last like this?

Sometimes he wondered if someone was simply playing a cruel joke on him. He had never been locked up in his office for so long at a stretch as he had been lately. Worst, there seemed to be no end to this flood of paperwork. Even for the government official, this was hard to bear.

Of course, Mycroft had long since become accustomed to an 80+ hour week, that was what his position demanded. But he usually got out at least occasionally, whether it was for business meetings or simply to rescue someone from a predicament. In the last week, however, he had only seen the outside world through the tinted windows of his Audi. A circumstance that was beginning to grate on his nerves. 

"Did you remember to bring something for the headache?" he asked his PA and Anthea nodded. "I've already dissolved it in tea for you, sir. I know you can't stand having to swallow pills." The official let out an appreciative noise and immediately took a big sip of his drink. Perfect temperature, as would have been expected from Anthea. Mycroft was reminded, as he often was, why he had hired her back then.

Anthea let her gaze glide around the office. She noticed that not only on the desk, but also on the floor next to it, files were piled up one after the other. Not having much to do herself, she offered to help. "Are there perhaps some documents that could also be handled by me? Looking at this, it's going to take quite a while. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Her superior seemed to consider that idea, lifting some papers at the corners, but then he shook his head. "As much as I would like that, unfortunately not my dear. However, you could try to prioritise the documents over there for me. That would help me immensely." Mycroft gestured to some piles beside his desk. His assistant nodded. "Will do sir. I'll have them picked up in a moment and make sure everything is back in your office in order in the morning."  
With that, she made her way back to her own workspace and left her boss to his own devices.

It did not take long, and some employees knocked on his door. The piles of documents were packed onto trolleys and taken to his assistant. After that, Mycroft's office at least looked a little better, no longer so messy. Relieved, he allowed himself to take a deep breathe, perhaps that would make things go a little faster. At least he was allowed to have a little hope. For now, however, it was time to get back to work. After all, he still had a lot to do.

Late in the afternoon, he was disturbed by the ringing of his mobile phone. At first, he simply ignored the device, too engrossed in a report from the House of Commons. Only when the ringing melody of his mobile sounded again did Mycroft tear himself away from the report. He rummaged through the sheets of paper on his table, some falling to the floor, which made him curse softly. After a short search, he found the device and checked the number on the display, which was suppressed.

The official toyed with the idea of not answering, but on the other hand it made him wonder whether a caller he didn't know knew his private number. So, he finally took the call, but tried to sound as busy as possible. "Hello? Who is this?"

Silence remained at the other end of the line, Mycroft rolled his eyes and was about to hang up when something could be heard from the background. A man's voice was not speaking directly into the phone, even seemed to be talking to someone else. "I'll be right there! Just, just a second! Hands off now!" someone barked.

Mycroft frowned with irritation, then the voice spoke directly to him.   
"Mycroft? Are you there?" he was asked in an angry tone.  
The addressed paused briefly, then it dawned on him who was calling, and his irritation gave way to a mixture of worry and frustration.  
"Sherlock. What's wrong?" he asked without much ado. If his brother was calling him voluntarily, if that was the right word, something was deeply amiss.

"St, Thomas' Hospital! Westminster Bridge Road! Quickly!", Sherlock shot towards his brother and abruptly hung up. The elder Holmes brother stared at his phone, perplexed, but quickly regained his composure. He rose from his chair and grabbed his suit jacket, which he had hung over the back of the chair some time ago. He put his mobile phone in his left pocket and then took his umbrella from the stand next to the door. As he exited his office, his PA was already waiting and stepped to his side, typing away on her mobile as usual. "A car sir?" she asked, probably already requesting one. "St Thomas' Hospital, and fast!" he instructed.

Anthea nodded, "The driver is already standing by." With that, they both made their way outside where the elegant black Audi was already waiting for them. They both got in and Mycroft gave instructions to drive off. As they buckled up, only one thing ran through his mind, what had his little brother done this time and how bad might it be if he actually deigned to call him?

The ride to the hospital took more time than Mycroft would have liked. But they were in the middle of rush hour, nothing else was to be expected, and his driver did his best to be quick.

He and Anthea were dropped off around the main entrance, and the latter instructed the driver to wait for both, as her boss had already stormed into the building. She quickly followed him and together they went in search of Sherlock. Annoyingly, they could not get any help at the information desk. So they began a scavenger hunt through half the building.

After a few minutes of wandering, they found their first clue. A nurse told them about a man whose description matched Sherlock's precisely. However, she also told them that said man had arrived here in the company of a police officer. Absolutely marvellous. Mycroft thanked her fleetingly and then went on his way.

He went to the emergency room, where he paid no attention to the receptionist and went straight to the corridor with the treatment rooms. Behind the fourth door he opened, he finally found what he was looking for. And a lot more.

Sherlock sat on the floor and stared stubbornly straight ahead, a grim expression on his face. Besides his younger brother, there were three other people in the room. A police officer stood with his arms folded in front of his chest, next to the examination table. A man was lying on it, bleeding from the head and his hands were cuffed in front of him. Finally, Mycroft noticed John Watson, who was dressed in a doctor's coat, sitting at a computer and seemed to be typing something in.

Mycroft took in the scene, then cleared his throat to draw attention to himself.   
John let out a soft laugh but didn't look up from his computer "Had wondered when you would arrive. As you can see we have a bit of a ... situation here." He pointed at the officer and then at Sherlock. Without further commenting on the doctor, Mycroft turned to his brother.

"Do you want to explain to me what happened, Sherlock?" he asked calmly, "or should I rather address these gentlemen there?" Mycroft pointed at the policeman. Sherlock made a disgusted face as if he had eaten something unappetising and remained silent. The elder brother paid no further attention; such behaviour was not uncommon, after all. He waited a moment to see if Sherlock would decide to tell him what was going on, but it quickly became clear that he would not break his silence for the time being.

With that, Mycroft turned to the officer and put on his typical smile. Charming, friendly, but meaningless and merely a simple phrase of politeness.  
"Would you be so kind as to explain to me exactly how this," he gestured around the room, "came about?"

The policeman eyed Mycroft from head to toe and raised an eyebrow. "Don't see how that's any of your business," was all he had to say.

"Well, he's been so difficult all along. Seems to be new at the Yard," John spoke up again from behind his screen. Sherlock, on the other hand, just laughed humourlessly "If Lestrade would put some effort into his job and at recruitment procedures just once, this problem wouldn't exist now."  
"Sherlock...", John chastised him in a calm but threatening voice.

Mycroft shook his head, he had no time for this "Would it be possible for you, John, to enlighten me?"  
John merely shrugged, but now lifted his gaze to look at Mycroft. "Arrived here all together in an ambulance, your brother, apart from a scrape on the chin, is fine. Mate here is worse " he pointed to the man on the table, "head injury and resulting concussion, bruised rib on the left side, but nothing life-threatening. They didn't tell me how it happened, though."

Annoyed, Mycroft rolled his eyes and tried his brother again. "If you're going to call me, the least you could do is telling me what this is all about, brother. Otherwise, I will be forced to leave, I have work waiting for me after all."

Sherlock seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally, he jumped up and motioned to his brother to follow him into the hallway. Once there, he let the sliding door slam shut and buried his hands in his coat pockets. Mycroft leaned on his umbrella and waited with an emotionless look for his brother to start explaining.

The consulting detective was silent for a while, probably trying to find the right words, or rather, to overcome himself. A sigh escaped Mycroft, "For God's sake, Sherlock! Tell me what's going on and why you dragged me out into this corridor for this."

"I don't want John to hear this," Sherlock said quietly.  
"John? Why not?"  
"I'm on a new case. Dale and I should..."  
"Dale? Oh, the injured man in there I suppose?"  
"Yes. He and I were asking around in one of the drug dens. In the process we got into it with some of the junkies, there was a fight and the police caught us before we could get away." Sherlock turned to his brother. Who gestured with his head for him to continue his explanation.

"Dale was arrested, I was still able to call you, then we were brought here. We're supposed to be taken to the Yard," the detective continued.  
"And you expect me to spare you both that walk, right?" An observation, not a question.  
"If it's not beyond your capacity," came the mocking reply.

Mycroft ignored the snappy comment.  
"What new case is this Sherlock?"  
"Why is that important? And why the emphasis on the word case?"  
"Do I really need to explain that to you now? Let me just hold it for you. You and an unknown, get arrested in a fight with some junkies. You both look ragged, your pupils are dilated and..."  
"Damn it Mycroft! Are you going to help me or not?!" his brother suddenly interrupted him angrily.

The official remained unimpressed and directed his gaze towards the door of the treatment room. He wanted a few things explained beforehand and now seemed the best time for that. "Then let's do it another way. First, why don't you tell me who the man in there is? I already know his name, so what?"

"Give me a break Mycroft. This is exactly why I never ask you for help!", Sherlock rubbed his hands over his face and groaned.

"Sherlock, I merely asked you to tell me more about this person. Should I help the man, that right is mine."  
Sherlock's expression turned into a mask of anger. "Don't take me for a fool Mycroft!" he thundered. "I know exactly what you've been making up in your head but let me tell you this: you're wrong! Dale and I are working on a new case, period! I ask you to do one thing for me and you come to me with an interrogation. I've told you everything you need to know, now just do your job and we're done here. I'm not high, nor do I have...”

"That's enough Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted his brother's torrent of words. "It's time to cut this short. Excuse me for a moment, please."  
With those words, Mycroft walked past Sherlock and took his mobile phone out of his pocket. A few calls later, he returned. Sherlock was still standing in the hallway, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

"Come.", the elder Holmes instructed and walked past him. His PA stepped out of the door the moment their boss passed it and came to his side. Sherlock, however, did not move. "And Dale?" he called after his brother.  
Mycroft did not stop as he spoke. "I've taken care of that, he has to go to the station to give a testimony, but that's all. You two are out of this."

"Then I don't have to come with you!", Sherlock threw his arms in the air.   
"As you wish, then I'll go to your flat alone," Mycroft retorted.  
"Please?! What do you want in..." Realisation hit the consulting detective "If you dare do that Mycroft! NO!"  
"Try and stop me, I beg you."

Before his brother could call out to him, Mycroft had already disappeared from the corridor and was on his way to the main entrance. There the driver was waiting for them.  
"Where to sir?" asked Anthea.  
"Baker Street and send a special team as well."  
"What kind?"  
"Narcotics."  
Anthea nodded and typed something in her phone. 

A while later they arrived at Baker Street, where the special Team was already waiting for them. They were all dressed in white body suits, gloves and face masks. 

Mycroft did not greet them but went straight to the front door and rang the bell several times. His brother's landlady, Mrs Hudson opened, and the team entered without saying anything to her. The elderly lady let out an indignant gasp. "Hey! What are you doing? You can't just walk in here like this!" she shouted after them.

Anthea stayed outside to let them know if Sherlock appeared. Mycroft went into the house last, straightening the door handle beforehand. "Mrs Hudson, please don't interfere with our work. It is in our all interests," he said flatly and dashed up the stairs as well.

He gave his team all the instructions they needed and then sat down in the armchair that used to belong to John Watson. Mycroft leaned back and crossed his legs, now it was time to wait. Inwardly he prayed that they would not find anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again~  
> I would like to thank everyone who commented and gave kudos!!! Thank you very, very much! That means a lot to me <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none

Sherlock couldn't believe it. Completely furious, he went back into the treatment room.

The officer from the yard was taking Dale's handcuffs off and putting them in a small case on his belt. His expression showed that he did not seem happy about this development.

"You two are dismissed, for now! I want to see you at the police station on Tuesday at 10 a.m., understand? You' ll make your testimony there and I want you to come, too," the policeman grumbled, pointing at Sherlock. Sherlock wanted to say something in reply, but Dale beat him to it. "We'll be there," he said, sitting up. 

The officer gave Dale and Sherlock one last disapproving look before he left the room and walked off. The consulting detective turned his head to Dale and shot him a death glare. "Don't look at me like that Sherlock. We'll go there on Tuesday and be done with it. Don't really need any more trouble with the coopers, I've got enough of that already."

Cautiously, Dale stood up, trying not to let a dizziness overtake him. Briefly he had to close his eyes, which seemed to make the spinning in his head even worse. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, faintly aware of a hand on his shoulder, and with certainty, he was pushed back onto the table.

John had taken the precaution of standing next to his patient, he had noticed the lurching in his steps and wanted to be there if Dale fell over. Something he knew to avoid, Dale was as tall as Sherlock and quite broad. Getting him up again would have cost the doctor a lot of strength.

"Let me treat the wound on your head first. Just sit there," John instructed, searching through the drawers and cabinets in the room for everything he would need. 

After he had gathered everything, he stepped back to the table and began to clean the wound. The disinfectant burned and Dale hissed softly. "It'll be over in a minute, grit your teeth. If you're brave you'll get something sweet" John muttered as he concentrated on the cotton ball in his hand. Dale smirked at John's joke. "You've got a sense of humour doc." John pulled up a corner of his mouth, barely visible, and began wrapping a bandage around Dale's head. "You need one in this line of work."

John checked his work one last time and then scoffed contentedly. "Done. In, say, three days, I want you to come back. We'll check the condition of the wound then. But if the headache gets worse, or you even vomit, I want you to come here immediately." Dale nodded that he understood and John began to finish his notes on the treatment. When he had finished, he printed out a prescription for a painkiller, which he handed to Dale.

Once that was done, the doctor turned his swivel stool in the direction Sherlock was standing and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked at the detective with a stern expression. "Now, you explain to me right now how this happened," John said calmly. 

Sherlock looked at his former flatmate and tried to pull himself together. John would not appreciate it if Sherlock took his anger out on him now. "There's no time for that! Mycroft is probably already tearing my entire flat apart!" he grumbled in frustration. Everything in Sherlock resisted telling John the truth and his mind was screaming to get out of this hospital. He couldn't bring himself to tell what this was all about and how it came to this. Not now, at least. 

John noticed nothing of his counterpart's inner conflict. Instead, he eyed Sherlock, looking for... for... for anything that would tell him if something was wrong with Sherlock. He also let his gaze slide to Dale, who was throwing on his leather jacket. Who was this bloke anyway? Or better, why was he with Sherlock? Could it be that...?

The squeak of the sliding door startled John; a nurse was leaning into the room. "Doctor Watson? We need you in the ICU, do you have a moment?" the blonde nurse asked, pursing her lips. John cursed inwardly, of course they needed him now. "Coming! Go ahead, please." The nurse winked and then disappeared. 

Before he left, John turned to Sherlock and stood directly in front of him. "You don't want to talk? All right. If anything happens though, you've got my number.", he glanced again at Dale, "Anything. Got it?", John looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Whatever. Are we done here now then John? I need to stop my dear brother, again, messing up my experiments in the kitchen." 

John sighed and said goodbye, then made his way to the ICU. As he took the lift up, he noticed an uneasy feeling spreading through his guts. Something was definitely not right.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and Dale went to the reception at the main entrance of the hospital and ordered a taxi. A few minutes later, it was waiting for them outside. Together they drove to Baker Street and Dale spent the whole trip trying to calm Sherlock down at least a little. With moderate success. When they finally arrived, Sherlock saw his brother's assistant standing by the front door. 

The taxi had not yet come to a complete halt when Sherlock opened the back door and stormed towards the entrance to his house. Without a word, he walked past Anthea and slammed the front door open so hard that the door handle hung crooked again.

Dale watched him go and mentally braced himself for what was likely to follow. He paid the driver and followed Sherlock into the house. Slowly, as he was still slightly dizzy. 

Dale greeted the lady who was standing next to the entrance staring at her mobile phone. He received nothing more than a smile in reply. Charming, he thought. Arriving in the front entrance, the first thing he heard was Sherlock shouting from upstairs. Resigned, Dale put his hands in his jacket pockets and put one foot, on the first step of the stairs. "Good God, give me the strength... What have I done to myself," he muttered.

"You're not the first person to say that." Mrs Hudson's voice rang out. She was leaning in the doorway to her own flat, holding a cup of tea. Dale raised his eyebrows and then looked back and forth between the landlady and the top of the stairs. Then he clicked his tongue and walked towards Mrs Hudson. 

"Let's leave them alone to argue eh? None of my business anyway... Not that I even care." Dale cleared his throat and took his hands out of his pockets. "You wouldn't happen to have a cuppa for me too, would you?" with a shy smile Dale pointed to the cup in Mrs Hudson's hand. The elderly lady raised her thin eyebrows before replying "I'm not your housekeeper!" Dale's smile widened a little at this statement. "But?" he asked, stepping towards Mrs Hudson. "But, how about you tell me what's been going on now? Then maybe there'll be a piece of cake with your tea."

Dale had to laugh. This woman was really something else. "After you ma'am!" The older lady stepped aside and let the man into her flat, where she immediately put on the water. 

In the meantime, Sherlock was doing everything he could to scare his brother's henchmen out of his kitchen. 

"Damn it, Mycroft! Get the hell out of here and take these buffoons with you! I've already said it and I'll say it again: you won't find anything here!", the detective stormed into the living room and stood in front of his brother. He was still sitting calmly on John's former armchair.  
John's armchair!

"That will become apparent in a few minutes Sherlock. If you wouldn't interfere with my men's work, we could speed up this process, or you could just tell me where to look. Then this thing would be over all the quicker." 

Sherlock dropped into his own armchair and massaged his temples with his index fingers. His older brother simply had a talent for driving him out of his mind.

"The only drugs, if that's what you want to call them, that I have, Mycroft, are two packs of cigarettes in my bedside drawer. So now, if you would prove the kindness you think you possess, tell your minions to get the hell out of here," Sherlock hissed, fixing his brother with an icy stare. 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and turned his umbrella in his hand. He too fixed his gaze on Sherlock, checking that what he was saying was true. They remained like that for a few minutes, piercing each other with their gaze, then Mycroft cleared his throat. Without interrupting their little gaze duel, he said coolly, "Gentlemen? That should be enough. You may go now." 

Without asking any questions, his men packed up their equipment and left Baker Street. After the downstairs door had closed, Mycroft straightened up and went to the window behind Sherlock's armchair. With the back of his hand he pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the street. 

There were still some things that needed to be clarified. "Who is the man?" he asked briefly. Sherlock propped his elbow on an armrest and rested his head on the palm of his hand. 

"Dale Powell."  
"A new friend of yours? Is this becoming a new habit now, little brother?"  
"Very funny Mycroft."  
"Quite, the irony of it is indeed amusing. Go on. How did you meet him?"  
Sherlock was silent.  
"Given. Where does he live?"  
"Here."

Mycroft paused for a moment.

"Here? With you?" he asked, stunned.  
"Yes. In John's old room. For two weeks. Don't tell me you didn't know. You're getting careless."  
"Save your cynical remarks. Some of have to actually do something for their money. How come?"  
"Rent's expensive, you need someone to share it with."  
"What does he work as?"  
"Odd jobs, before he moved in with me he was homeless."  
"And he can afford, through odd jobs, half the rent? Don't kid me. He was part of your, what do you call them, network, right? Let me guess, these odd jobs are more illegal in nature?"

With that, Mycroft turned back to his brother, who still had his back turned. Sherlock again said nothing. Mycroft walked back to his chair and sat down. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'll find out one way or another." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and expelled air through his nose. These conversations with his brother were getting tiresome. It was time to put an end to it, they would just go round in circles again. Besides, now was not the right time for this conversation anyway.

"Do what you please Mycroft. If you'll excuse me then? I'm going to take a shower and then go to sleep. You know how to find the door." Sherlock stood up and disappeared through the kitchen into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him, which made Mycroft shake his head.

Did his brother not understand that he was simply worried about him? Of course he didn't. For Sherlock, this was merely Mycroft's compulsion to control him. Sometimes the elder Holmes wished Sherlock would make the effort to understand him a little better, but he could wait a long time for that to happen. 

Mycroft straightened up, smoothed out his suit and then went back downstairs. On his way, he met Dale, who had just come out of Mrs Hudson's flat. He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked surprised when he saw Mycroft on the stairs. 

"Good afternoon. I don't believe we've met. Dale Powell." Mycroft was greeted and a hand reached out to him. Mycroft ignored it and walked past him. "Believe me, I know that already. If you'll excuse me then, I have to hurry," with that he left Dale standing and went to Anthea who was still waiting outside.

"Found anything, sir?" she inquired, tapping on her mobile phone as she walked. The black Audi was already waiting for her and her boss. They both got in and Mycroft instructed that they should be driven back to the office. "I didn't, fortunately. By the way, I want you to find out everything you can about someone called Dale Powell, so put him on the watch list too, will you?"

Anthea nodded. "Of course sir, you will have a full report by noon tomorrow." Briefly she looked up from her device and straight at Mycroft. "There is one more thing. I was informed that Lady Smallwood is waiting for you. She is already in your office." "Something important?" "I was told nothing further sir." "Then let's be surprised. Not that we have any choice."

When he arrived in his office, Lady Smallwood was already sitting in one of the chairs in front of Mycroft's desk with a cup of coffee. To his surprise, the lady was not alone either. 

A man sat on the other chair next to her. His ash blond hair was cut short and neatly combed back. His clean-shaven face showed no blemishes except for slight wrinkles and his eyes were a deep, dark green. Even though the gentleman was seated, one could guess that he must be quite tall, maybe 6 feet. A little above that. In any case, the man knew how to dress, at least that was revealed by the expensive-looking three-piece suit.

Mycroft closed the door behind him and greeted his guests. "Lady Smallwood. What a rare visit, should I be worried?" asked Mycroft, sitting down opposite them. Serenely, he leaned back in his chair. Lady Smallwood smiled thinly and took another sip of her coffee.

"Not at all Mr. Holmes. There is no cause for alarm, nor is it in fact a matter of concern to me. This gentleman here beside me is the reason for my visit." the lady pointed to her companion. "His name is Sir Giles Martin Goodwin and he works for Her Majesty the Queen. His position in the Palace is rather high and I wanted to cause him as little inconvenience as possible. I have taken the liberty of bringing him here directly with his request as I think you can best help him."

Of course she would, Mycroft thought annoyed, but didn't show it. Instead, he put on his familiar smile. "And how can I be of assistance to the gentleman?" he turned partly to Lady Smallwood and partly to Sir Goodwin.

"I think you should discuss this in private. My business here is finished. Sir Goodwin, Mr. Holmes! If you will excuse me then." the lady rose and looked at Sir Goodwin. "You will be sent for in two hours. Have a pleasant day gentlemen." With that, she walked out of the office, leaving Mycroft alone with his guest. 

Sir Goodwin got up and went to the door, looking through the small window after Lady Smallwood. When he was sure that she really seemed to have disappeared, he turned to Mycroft. Mycroft was still sitting in his chair, watching Sir Goodwin closely, taking in every movement. Finally, he too stood up and went to stand beside his desk. 

Sir Goodwin stopped by the door. They were silent for a moment, then he said, "She's gone." Mycroft crossed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms around Sir Goodwin's neck. Sir Goodwin put his own arms around the middle of Mycroft's body and pressed him against himself.

Giles took a deep breath and smelled his partner's expensive cologne. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner." he apologised. Mycroft shook his head and broke away from Giles. "No need to apologise. What are you doing here?"

Giles sat back in his previous chair and Mycroft did likewise. "Unfortunately, the reason for my visit is indeed work. But, we have two hours, let's put that on the back burner for now shall we? After all, we haven't seen each other for a week."

"Both our jobs are more than demanding and time-consuming. We knew what we were getting into." Mycroft returned. That might be true, but even someone like Mycroft had to admit that an entire week without Giles had been tough. 

It might seem baffling to many, but Mycroft Holmes actually possessed a heart. One that he had lost to the man opposite him. A long time ago. 

Sir Giles Martin Goodwin, a representative from Buckingham Palace and one of Her Majesty's most capable men. Some years ago, he and Mycroft had met at a gala at Balmoral Castle. Even then, Mycroft had been fascinated by him, something that was more than rare to happen. Giles had managed it, however, and after Mycroft had noticed it, he was perhaps even the one who was most surprised about it. For a long time, Mycroft built up a friendship with this man, a close friendship in fact. 

Then, a few months ago, four to be exact, Mycroft had finally pulled it all together, thrown his principles overboard and invited Giles out to dinner. A few drinks and a messed-up suit from Mycroft later, the two were a couple. 

Something they both knew to keep secret until now. A relationship of this kind made one vulnerable. In both their positions, something they could not afford. 

"Well, that's true and yet... I really missed you, Mycroft. At least we could meet once in a while, but lately we haven't seen each other at all." Mycroft felt a wave of guilt roll over him, his partner was right. 

"Anyway, I was hoping to change that. Let's meet at your place tonight after work Mycroft. I'll cook something and we can both relax for a few hours. What do you say?", Giles looked up at his partner expectantly. 

"That sounds like a lovely idea, but...", Mycroft looked around the office, the files from this morning coming back to his mind. "Too busy?", he heard Giles say, something disappointed could be heard subliminally. 

Mycroft looked at the files on his desk and sighed. "No. What do you say to seven o'clock?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry everyone, things are going south soon enough...


End file.
